The Message of A Dream
by Seshat0120
Summary: What dreams are haunting Sam? Takes place before Sam started to leap
1. Chapter 1

**The Message of A Dream**

_by Seshat0120_

_Disclaimer: Quantum Leap and all related characters are owned by Belisarius Productions and Universal. No profit has been made off of the writing or distribution of this piece of fiction._

It was just barely 6:30 in the morning when Al entered the nearly deserted cafeteria at the project. Immediately, he noticed Sam sitting alone at a table on the opposite side of the room cradling a cup of coffee and was struck by how tired and drained the younger man looked. Considering the hours he'd been putting in lately, it was no wonder.

Grabbing a cup of coffee for himself, Al took the seat opposite Sam. "Mornin', Sam," he said and waited for Sam to acknowledge him. Seeing the vacant look in Sam's eyes, Al thought he might have fallen asleep with his eyes open. When he didn't get a response from Sam, Al tried again, nudging the hand cradling the coffee as he again said, "Mornin', Sam" slightly more forcefully.

"Huh? Oh, Al. I didn't you notice there," Sam said becoming aware of his surroundings.

"I'll say you didn't. You looked like you were sleeping with your eyes open. Just how much sleep did you get last night?"

"A couple of hours," Sam responded, raising the mug to take a sip. He grimaced as he tasted the cold brew. "When is it ever more?" he asked ruefully.

Al took a sip, sampling his own coffee before answering. "You should really try for more. You look terrible. Maybe you should take the day off and try to catch up on your sleep. Although, the way you look you'd probably need a month of Sundays before you break even."

Sam shrugged off Al's concern. "I'm just a little tired, Al, that's all. Once we get things really going here I'll be able to catch up on any sleep I'm missing. Besides, there's no way I could take today off even if I wanted to. The committee's coming in today, remember?"

Al had, in fact, forgotten about the committee meeting. That would explain why the normally casually dressed Sam was dressed much more formally. "Damn, I forgot about those nozzles coming today. Still, as soon as the meeting's done you should knock off for the day and get some rest."

"There's no time for rest right now, Al," Sam said getting up from the table. "Look, I've got to get to my office. I've got a ton of stuff to try to get caught up on before the committee gets here."

"What time's the meeting anyway?"

"It's at 1:00 and Al?"

"Yeah."

"You might want to try changing into something a little more….conservative," Sam added while eying the rather garish outfit Al had dressed in.

"What?" Al asked feigning indignance, "you trying to say there's something wrong with my clothes?"

"No, Al, there's nothing wrong at all – if you're planning on just blinding them. Look, I better get going. I'll see ya later."

Al watched Sam leave the cafeteria and couldn't help the niggling feeling of worry he had. Sure, Sam was probably tired. Hell, they all were. An early night was not something many people at the project were familiar with lately. Al couldn't help feeling, though, that Sam was more than just tired.


	2. Chapter 2

Once he'd reached the relative safety of his office, Sam leaned back against the closed door and finally let loose the cough he'd been holding back. The past couple of days he'd been fighting a cold and had been successful hiding it and passing it off as just being tired. Now it seemed like it was getting worse and it was getting harder to hold back the coughing fits he seemed more and more prone to.

Once he'd caught his breath he turned to look at the thermostat for his office. It might have been set at 70 but it felt to him like his office was a meat locker. He set the temperature higher, not even bothering to check what he was setting it on. The only thing he cared about was finally feeling warm. Since he'd gotten out of bed that morning it had seemed like everywhere he went the temperature was way too low.

He slumped down in the chair behind his desk with a sigh. He would have gladly taken Al up on his suggestion of just taking the day off but doing so wasn't in the cards. It seemed the more work he did the more that piled up to be done. If he'd foreseen the paper blizzard he was finding himself buried under as the Project Director he would have gladly found someone else to do the job. Sure, Al more than pulled his weight as the Administrator but there were some things that had to have the input of the Director and there was no way getting around it.

He booted up the computer on his desk and opened up the current bane of his existence – the budget for the project. Somehow it had become as unbalanced as a drunk doing a field sobriety test and if he didn't somehow get it balanced soon the committee was going to want to know why.

He spent the next several hours working on the budget but it seemed it was no closer to being balanced than it was when he'd originally started. In between he'd had to field any number of calls and emails with every problem imaginable. Apparently their supply delivery was several days over due and pretty soon they were going to start running out of the most basic of things. Sam surveyed the mess of papers on his desk and fervently hoped that paper was one of the things they were running out of so at least less of it would end up landing on his desk.

Then there was the committee meeting that he still had to face where he had to yet again tap dance until he got the continued funding he needed – and the committee didn't even completely understand what the project was all about. They were only interested in the super-computer he was designing, and any time talk of time-travel came up they began to question his sanity.

Dealing with the committee was never his strong suit. Thank God he had Al to bear the brunt of the committee meetings. He had to make an appearance at them, though. As long as "Project Director" was on his office door, he was expected to make an appearance.

One thing he'd learned about the committee meetings was to just shut his mouth and let Al handle them and only answer whatever questions they directly asked him. Most of the time the committee was on the verge of closing them down and there was no sense fueling their fire and giving them more reasons. He was convinced that, at the least, most of the time they thought of him as a mad scientist and, at the worst, they honestly did believe he was insane and a danger to himself and the rest of the project.

He'd also found that it was less painful to skirt around the issue at committee meetings. Al didn't have to kick him under the table too many times when he began to talk about his time travel theory for him to learn it was safer to just not say anything. He knew he should be insulted that the committee wasn't taking his string theory seriously but if pretending that wasn't the full intent of the project kept the funding rolling in he could live with it – for now. He just hoped this wasn't going to be one of those meetings where someone on the committee was going to demand an explanation of the project from him yet again. He didn't think that today he was up to the challenge of talking all around the issue like it didn't exist.

Unexpectedly, a sneeze burst out of him and he reached across his desk for what felt like the hundreth time in less than an hour for the box of tissues that was there. He wasn't sure if the pounding headache he had came from the constant sneezing or from his head feeling like it was stuffed full of cotton. Then again, he was pretty sure someone had replaced all of the light bulbs in his office with ones that were at least 20 watts brighter so it could have been that, too. He was positive that that dull ache across his ribcage came from the near relentless cough. It was probably contributing to the feeling in his throat of having swallowed acid and was another probable cause of the headache. All in all, he was feeling pretty miserable.

He'd just deposited the tissue he'd used in the nearly overflowing trashcan by his desk when he found himself having to reach across for another. His reach was thrown off by the sudden coughing fit and he ended up knocking over the picture frame on the desk. Once he'd gotten the cough under control, he reached across to right the frame but instead kept it in his hand as he leaned back in his desk chair looking at it. He looked down into the face of his younger self and his brother Tom. The photo had been taken after Tom's graduation from the Naval Academy in Annapolis. Tom looked so proud and full of life in the picture. It was hard to believe that a year later he was dead in Vietnam.

It had been 20 years since Tom's death but sometimes it seemed like it just happened. They never did know what had happened that led to his death. Whatever the mission he'd been on, it had been classified. All they ever knew was that Tom had been killed by a sniper – or so they'd been told. There were so many questions that were never answered…so many questions Sam wanted to find the answers to. He didn't care what the mission was that Tom had been on. The questions he had were more personal. "Had Tom suffered?" "Did he know what had happened?" "Was he alone?" It was questions that only time held the answers to and time wasn't going to give those answers up – at least not without some help.

With a gentle sigh, careful not to trigger another coughing fit, he reached back across his desk to set the picture in its accustomed place. He looked at his watch and saw that it was 12:15. He still had 45 minutes before he had to be in the conference room for the meeting. That was time enough to put his head down on his desk for just a few moments and try to get a little rest. In a matter of seconds after laying his head down, he drifted off to a restless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Al snuck a quick look at his watch. It was 1:10 and Sam still hadn't shown up for the committee meeting. The members of the committee were getting more than a little irritated at Sam's absence. As the Project Director he was required to attend all meetings of the committee. It was no secret to anyone that Sam disliked having to attend the meetings, but he was always there. Al couldn't remember a time when he was ever late for the meetings so he was more than a little surprised that Sam was already 10 minutes late and it didn't seem like he'd be making an appearance anytime soon.

Another five minutes passed by in strained silence and Sam still hadn't shown up. Many of the committee members were making a point of checking their watches and shifting irritably in their seats as they tired of waiting for the Project Director to grace them with his presence.

Finally, Weitzman irritably asked, "Dr. Beckett does know we have a tight schedule to keep, doesn't he? Is there any reason why he is now," he made a grand show of checking his watch, "15 minutes late for this meeting? He does, I presume, realize that the continued funding of this project will be based on the outcome of this meeting?"

"I'm sorry, Sir," Al apologized. "Dr. Beckett is quite aware of the importance of this meeting. I'm sure he has a very valid reason for not being here. As a matter of fact, if you'll excuse me," he said rising from his seat, "I'll go and see if I can locate him myself."

"Admiral." Weitzman's voice stopped Al where he stood with his hand on the door. "I suggest you tell Dr. Beckett that if he's not in this room within the next 10 minutes, or if he doesn't have a very compelling reason for not being here, we'll have no choice but to discontinue funding of this project. I hope I'm making myself clear."

"Very clear," Al replied before exiting the room. He knew that Sam would have a damned good reason for not being there but Al was worried what the reason could be. It was so out of character for Sam to neither be at the meeting nor to call ahead to advise them that he'd be late. Considering how ragged Sam had been looking lately, Al could only imagine what had kept Sam from showing up.

He quickly walked through the corridors of the project. Since it was still in its beginning stages there weren't many people around and most of the spaces had an unfinished, incomplete look to them. He was headed toward Sam's office. One of the few areas that had been completed thus far was the administrative section, where both he and Sam had offices, as well as some of the living quarters. With the project located so far out in the desert, they'd reasoned that it would be more convenient to have living quarters on the premises instead of always having to make the hour plus drive to the nearest town, Alamagordo.

Al reached the door to Sam's office and found it closed. He knocked loudly on it while calling out, "Sam, you in there?" When there was no answer he tried calling out to Sam again as he opened the door. When Al walked into the office Sam was just raising his head up from the desk, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. It didn't surprise Al at all that the kid had fallen asleep at his desk. Considering the long hours he'd been keeping lately, Al was surprised that he was able to stay awake at all sometimes. What did surprise him was the how hot the office was.

"Hey, Sam, there you are. Do you know what time it is and why the hell does it feel like a sauna in here? On second thought, don't answer that. If you did know what time it was you wouldn't be sleeping on your desk. In case you've forgotten, the committee's waiting for you to put in an appearance and they're about a minute away from pulling the plug on the project."

The threat of the committee withdrawing funding for the project was enough to propel Sam into action. "Oh God! I lost track of the time, Al. Can you stall them or something and I'll be right there," he said while quickly getting up from his chair. He attained vertical for all of five seconds before whatever color was still in his face quickly drained away and he sat back down rather abruptly as the world around him seemed to do a giant loop the loop and gray out.

Al rushed over to the desk, taking a good, hard look at Sam. This wasn't just a matter of him being tired as he'd claimed earlier. It was definitely something more. In Al's opinion Sam looked like road kill…3 day old road kill… and he certainly wasn't in any condition to meet with the barracudas on the committee. He put out a hand to push Sam back into the chair when he tried to rise again, feeling the heat of a rising fever through the thin cotton of Sam's shirt. "I don't think we're gonna have to worry about stalling, Sam. There's no way you're in any condition to meet with them. Right now they'd eat you up like a snack and look for the main course."

Sam tried to protest. "I'm fine, Al. We can't risk losing funding. We gotta meet with them." He made a half-hearted attempt to stand again but didn't fight Al's restraining hand all that much.

"Don't worry, Sam. There's no way the committee's gonna pull the funding. That nozzle Weitzman said that they'd only pull it if you didn't have, to use his words, a compelling reason for not showing up. I'd say if you're sick that should be pretty compelling."

"I'm not sick, Al. I told you, I'm fine."

"Sure, you're not sick and you're perfectly fine. We just suffered a minor earthquake centered right under you and that's why you fell back when you stood up. You just sit still and I'll handle this."

Al picked up the phone on Sam's desk and called his assistant. "Suzanne, I need you to go to the conference room and tell the committee that we're going to have to reschedule the meeting. Let them know that Dr. Beckett is too ill to meet and I'm taking him to his quarters right now. I'll get in touch with them as soon as Dr. Beckett is up to meeting with them."

"They're not going to like that, Al," Sam said as Al hung up the phone, "and I don't need to go back to my quarters. There's too much work to do."

"I don't care if they like it or not, Sam. They're going to have to deal with it and you're done with work today." When Sam opened his mouth to argue Al quickly put a stop to it. "No arguments from you, Mister. You're gonna haul your sorry butt to your quarters and go to bed and you're not coming out to do work until you can stand up without tipping over." Al wasn't able to completely hide his worry for Sam and it showed as his voice gentled. "I mean it, Sam. You gotta take care of yourself. We can have all the funding in the world but we're not going to get anything done without a director – without you."

Sam gave in to the wisdom of Al's words and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. Truth to tell, he was starting to feel worse, if that were possible, and crawling into bed was really starting to sound like an attractive proposal. He wasn't quite ready to give in completely, though.

He reached across his desk and once again picked up the picture of his brother and him and stared at it for a few seconds before speaking. "Did I ever tell you about my brother, Al?" He hadn't bothered to look up at Al when he'd asked the question, just kept looking down at the picture.

Al was a bit confused about what had prompted Sam to ask him about his brother but figured he'd go along with him. At least he'd stopped trying to get up to go to the committee meeting. "No, Sam, you've never told me much about your brother."

"He was killed in Vietnam when I was 16." He finally looked up at Al. "They never told us what happened to him. I've always wondered." Al didn't think he'd ever seen as much sorrow in Sam's eyes as he was seeing there now.

He was quiet for a moment. He'd known that Sam's brother had died when Sam was younger. He hadn't known until then that he'd been killed in Vietnam. He'd never really thought to ask Sam what had happened to him. He put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "You're better off not knowing what could have happened to him, Kid. Too much went on over there that no one should know about." For a moment Al remembered the unspeakable horrors he went through in Vietnam before shaking off the memories and grabbing Sam by the upper arm and tugging.

"Come on, it's time to get you into bed."

Sam didn't say anything, just reached across the desk and put the picture back in its place before letting Al lead him out of the office.


	4. Chapter 4

It seemed to Al as if the route from Sam's office to his quarters had doubled and it was taking them twice as long to get there. Of course, that may have been because they had to keep stopping every time a coughing fit doubled Sam over or when a dizzy spell threatened to send him toppling to the floor. Al hoped that they wouldn't bump into anyone along the way. The less time they had to spend explaining what was wrong, the quicker he could get Sam back to his quarters and into bed.

Fate was a fickle mistress, though, and they didn't get more than 10 feet from the administrative offices before they bumped into Weitzman. Of all the committee members he was the last one that Al wanted to have to deal with right now, and he knew there was no way Sam was prepared to face him.

Luckily, Weitzman took one look at Sam, kept his mouth shut, and moved out of their way so they could pass. Al knew Sam looked bad but if it was bad enough for Weitzman to pass up the opportunity to get a few jabs in, he must look pretty darned sick.

At least twice on their trip to the living area Al seriously considered sticking Sam into a car and driving him into town to see a doctor. The only thing that stopped him was the fight Sam put up the first time he suggested it and the ensuing coughing fit which almost knocked him over. Sam was adamant that he had nothing more than a cold and would be fine after a couple of hours sleep. Al was dubious of that diagnosis but figured maybe the hour plus ride into town wasn't the best thing for Sam at the moment. Besides, one of those doctorates Sam held was in medicine so he'd be able to tell if he did need medical help, wouldn't he?

Al couldn't help the nagging thought, though, that doctors made the worst patients and maybe Sam wasn't in any condition to diagnose himself. Still, he figured, it would probably do more harm than good to argue the point with him right now.

Eventually they did reach the door to Sam's quarters and Al asked him for the keycard to unlock the door. After a bit of fumbling, Sam finally dug it out of his pocket.

The living quarters at the project were spartan, to say the least. They were comprised of a small living room area with a kitchenette and an equally small bedroom area and bathroom. Al deposited Sam on the edge of the bed with orders to start to strip out of his clothes while he dug around in the lone bureau for something comfortable for Sam to put on.


	5. Chapter 5

For Sam, most of the trip to his quarters had passed in a blur. It seemed as if admitting to Al that he was sick had given the illness further control of his body. He had been vaguely aware of passing Weitzman in the corridor and was never as happy as when Weitzman let them pass without saying a word. Sam had to wonder, though, just how bad he must look if Weitzman hadn't made a move to stop them.

He had managed to talk Al out of taking him into town to a doctor. The way he was feeling, and the way his luck seemed to be going today, he was sure that if he hadn't talked Al out of it he probably would have found himself in a hospital instead of just a doctor's office. He'd tried to reassure Al, and himself, that it was nothing but a cold and he'd be right as rain after a few hours sleep. Honestly, he wasn't so sure of that himself.

He was trying to make a vain attempt to undress like Al had told him but it seemed like getting the buttons to work on his shirt was the hardest thing he'd ever done. If it hadn't been for that damned meeting he could have foregone the dress shirt and pants and worn a simple pullover shirt which he was sure he'd have managed to get it off by now.

By the time Al came back over to the bed with a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, he'd just managed to get his shirt off. He was afraid that Al was going to offer to help him finish undressing but Al just gave him a "why me" look before shaking his head and walking off to the bathroom.

Sam heard Al rummaging around in the cabinet over the sink and redoubled his efforts to get undressed and changed before Al put in an appearance again. He'd just managed to accomplish that feat when Al came out of the bathroom with a glass of water and something in his fist.

"Here, take these," Al said handing him two white tablets. Sam guessed the tablets were Tylenol but the way he was feeling he wouldn't have cared if Al were handing him two cyanide tablets. Hell, he'd probably welcome that right about now.

He swallowed the two tablets with the water and it only served to exacerbate the burning in his throat.

Once he'd swallowed the Tylenol, Al told him to lie down and pulled the blanket up over him. He thought for a moment that Al was going to tuck him in but he stopped short of that. The last person he could remember doing that was his mother. Well, there was Donna but it was best to not think about that. That wound was still too fresh.

It felt as if as soon as his head hit the pillow he started to drift off to sleep. He was only vaguely aware of Al saying he was going to go to his quarters and get changed and then he'd be back. Sam thought he might have responded to him but he couldn't be sure if the words ever actually left his mouth.


	6. Chapter 6

It wasn't often that Al saw his normally graceful friend so uncoordinated. Under any other circumstances he might have gotten a good laugh out of watching Sam fight to get his shirt unbuttoned. Instead he resisted the urge to lean over and help him. He doubted that Sam would appreciate it if he helped him get undressed and instead went into the bathroom to search for some Tylenol after handing Sam a change of clothes.

"I'm gonna go back to my quarters and change, Sam, then I'll be right back. Are you gonna be ok and stay put until I get back?" he asked once he'd made sure Sam had swallowed the Tylenol and was lying down in bed.

The mumbled answer he got in return could have been yes or no it was so indistinguishable, but considering that the kid was already falling asleep Al figured he'd still be in the same place when he got back. He grabbed the keycard to Sam's room on his way out the door, making sure it was locked behind him.

Al didn't feel comfortable leaving Sam alone. He knew as soon as Sam woke up he'd just go right back to work, which was the last thing he needed to do right now. He made a quick stop at his quarters to change out of his uniform – when meeting with the committee it was always for the best to remind them of who he was. Another quick stop by his office and he picked up the paperwork to try to get the project's budget balanced. A genius Sam might be with seven doctorates to his name but it always amazed Al that he couldn't balance a simple budget. It was good to know that the kid wasn't perfect after all.

"Suzanne," he said as he walked past his assistant, "if anyone's looking for me, I'll be in Dr. Beckett's quarters. They can find me there. If anyone's looking for Dr. Beckett, let them know he's unavailable for the rest of today and most likely tomorrow as well."

"Yes, Admiral," she replied. "Admiral, will Dr. Beckett be ok? He didn't look too good when the two of you walked by earlier."

Al had to grin at Suzanne's concern for Sam. Al hadn't quite figured out what it was about Sam that made women want to either mother him or fall immediately in love with him. It looked like Suzanne was falling into the former category – even if she was several years younger than Sam.

"He'll be fine, Suzanne. He just hasn't been sleeping too much lately or taking very good care of himself. He just needs to get some rest and he'll back to his usual self."

Suzanne looked a bit skeptical but accepted what Al had said. "Well, tellhim if he needs anything, just let me know and I'll take care of it for him."

Yep, definitely wanted to mother him.

On his way back to Sam's quarters Al bumped into a handful of others who also wanted to know if Sam was ok. He assured them all that Sam would be fine and back to work in short order.

When Al got back to Sam's quarters and opened the door he could hear mumbling coming from the bedroom. He went back there to check on Sam and found he'd knocked the blanket off of himself and was tossing and turning and muttering. Al wasn't able to understand what it was that he was muttering, but it was clear to see that his sleep was anything but restful.

Sweat was beading on Sam's forehead and his cheeks had taken on a rosy coloring. "Sure, Kid, it's just a cold," Al whispered as he bent down to fix the blanket. As fast as he'd pulled it up Sam knocked it back down so Al left it. He stood looking down at Sam for another couple of minutes until the younger man finally settled down into a deeper sleep. Once more Al leaned over to pull the blanket up and tucked it in around Sam's shoulders. Straightening, he couldn't resist the urge to reach down and brush the hair off of Sam's forehead before smiling ruefully to himself. Looked like he was starting to mother Sam, too. With any luck, whatever demons had been plaguing Sam in his sleep would leave him in peace now.

Al left the bedroom and walked back into the living area and booted up the computer on Sam's desk. It was time to try to make some sense out of the jumbled mess that the budget had become.

He worked on the budget for a while and soon lost track of time. Every now and then he'd hear muttering coming from Sam's bedroom or the sounds of him tossing and turning again, but the sounds would only last for a little while before he would settle down into a deeper sleep. Al had been working at the budget for some time when he heard a hoarse shout come from the bedroom.

He jumped up from his chair and rushed back to the bedroom to see what was wrong. When he reached the bedroom Sam was sitting up in the bed with the covers pooled at his waist. Sweat was running down his face and his t-shirt was plastered to his body. He was breathing hard and his face was a ghostly white. Even though his eyes were open Al didn't think he was seeing the here and now but was still caught in whatever nightmare had haunted him. "Sam?" Al called softly while resting a gentle hand on Sam's shoulder. Startled, Sam pulled away from him until he bumped into the wall near the bed. He blinked a few times before he seemed to be aware of where he was and who Al was.

"Sam? You with me now?" Al asked in a low voice so as not to startle Sam again.

Sam stared at Al for a few seconds before nodding his head to indicate that he was truly awake and aware of his surroundings. "Yeah, I'm awake," he said before being gripped by a coughing fit.

Al rubbed Sam's bowed back and winced in sympathy as he continued to cough. The cough seemed to come from deep in Sam's chest and right about then Al would have put his money on pneumonia instead of "just a cold". The cough finally did subside and when Sam raised his head his face was flushed red from the exertion of coughing. Al considered once again pressing Sam into letting him drive him into town but decided to delay that argument just a bit. Sam still had a skittish look in his eyes from the dream and Al didn't think it would be wise to push him just yet.

"That must have been one hell of dream," he said instead.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "It was."

"You wanna talk about it?"

Sam considered Al's offer quietly for a couple of seconds before declining. "I'd…I'd rather not. It was just a bad dream. I'm not even sure I remember what it was."

It seemed to Al that Sam did remember what it was he'd been dreaming about but he just didn't want to share it. Al didn't pressure him into talking about it since he knew what it was like to have dreams you'd rather just forget about.

"How long was I asleep?" Sam asked as he pulled the sweat-dampened material of his shirt away from his body.

"A couple of hours," Al replied. "You look like you could use a couple more, too."

"Probably," was Sam's non-committal reply. "First, I need to take a shower and get in to some clean clothes."

Sam pushed himself out of bed and swayed for a few seconds until his body got used to being vertical. Al put out a hand to steady him and make sure he didn't topple over onto the floor.

Al watched Sam walking to the bathroom and couldn't help the gnawing worry he was feeling. Something more was going on with Sam than what was immediately obvious and Al figured it was best to stick around until he found out what it was. "You gonna be ok, Sam?" he asked as Sam walked through the bathroom doorway.

Sam hesitated for a second in the doorway before turning toward Al and nodding that he'd be fine while trying to muffle a cough. Then he swung the door closed, cutting off Al's view of him.

Once the bathroom door closed, Al sighed and set about finding clean clothes for Sam.


	7. Chapter 7

With the door closed solidly behind him, Sam leaned back on it taking a deep, but careful breath. The last thing he wanted to do was to trigger another coughing fit and have the cavalry come charging in. He felt a shiver and knew it wasn't completely caused by the sweat-dampened clothes he had on but rather from the residual effects of the dream that weren't ready to let him go.

He crossed over to the shower and turned it on so that the water could warm up while he stripped the damp clothes from his body. He balled up the clothes and threw them onto the growing pile of laundry in the corner of the bathroom. He'd have to find time to do something about that soon.

He climbed into the shower and under the stream of hot water. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the water run over his face. Almost as fast as he'd closed them his eyes popped back open as vestiges of the dream still haunted him.

He'd lied when he'd told Al he didn't remember what the dream had been about. He'd experienced the dream far too many times to ever forget it. He'd started having the dream shortly after Tom had been killed. As a matter of fact, he remembered the first time he'd had it had been the night of the funeral. He'd scared his parents half to death when he'd woken up shouting, and it had taken them more than a little while to get him to calm down and realize he wasn't in the dream anymore. That had been the first of many times that the dream would haunt him. Most times he'd just wake from it with a start but on rare occasions, like that first time and today, he'd wake up shouting and it would take him some time to really leave the dream world behind.

The dream wasn't always the same every time but it had the same theme. He always dreamed about Tom being killed. He supposed its varied forms, and even the fact that he continued to have the dream, owed to the fact that they knew so little of what happened to Tom. He supposed it was his mind filling in all of the "might haves".

He'd had the dream fairly regularly when he'd first started college. It made keeping a roommate pretty tough since there weren't many who wanted to room with someone who tended to wake up yelling their head off in the middle of the night. Eventually over the years the frequency of the dreams had waned until now he only tended to have it when he was over tired, stressed, or sick. Well, he certainly covered all of those bases.

Sam made quick, efficient work of his shower. Even though it did feel good to stand under the cascading hot water, he didn't think it would be such a good idea to take too long. Al would probably start to worry and come in to check on him if he did. Besides, now that the adrenaline rush of the dream was wearing off he was starting to feel just a bit light-headed. Cracking his head open on the shower floor was not something he was really looking forward to doing.

His shower finished, he turned off the water and stepped out into the chillier air of the bathroom. He reached for a towel and dried himself off before wrapping the towel around his waist. Before stepping out into the bedroom he took a look at himself in the mirror and was a bit shocked by what he saw. His face was chalk-white except for the unhealthy redness of his cheeks. He had dark circles under his eyes and it looked like he hadn't slept in about a week. No wonder Al had been worried about him. He looked like death warmed over, which was about what he felt like.

Stepping out of the bathroom and into the bedroom he found a neatly folded pile of clothes on his bed which had also been straightened out. Bless Al and his Navy training. Sam figured he could probably bounce a quarter off it if he wanted to.

He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled on the clothes that Al had left him. Al must have heard him moving around in the bedroom because he called out, "Don't leave the towel on the bed," which only made Sam laugh. They'd had to share a hotel room a couple of times on trips to Washington when they were first trying to get the project going. It had driven Al absolutely nuts because Sam had the bad habit of leaving his damp towel on his bed all the time. Truthfully, the first couple of times it had happened it had been an oversight on Sam's part. After that he'd done it intentionally because it was kind of fun to watch Al get worked up over it.

Once he was done getting dressed he dutifully took the towel into the bathroom and hung it over the towel rack. He had thought of just leaving it on the bed to torment Al but figured it wasn't going to be that long before he went to bed again and he didn't relish the thought of getting into a bed with a damp spot.

After he'd hung up the towel he rummaged around in his closet until he'd found a zip front sweatshirt to put on over the t-shirt that Al had left out for him, since he was feeling a little chilly. Once he'd done that he walked out to the living room area and stopped dead in his tracks in the doorway. Controlled chaos was the only thing he could think of to describe the sight that greeted him in the living room. Al was sitting at the computer on Sam's desk and spread around him on the desk, on the floor and even on the small coffee table in front of the couch were more papers and folders than Sam thought the project had. It looked like a small paper blizzard had happened in the living room while he'd slept.

He skirted around most of it and sank down on the couch. "What the heck happened in here?" he asked.

"Oh, this?" Al seemed rather nonchalant about the mess. "I'm trying to get the budget for the project to balance and figure out how you got it so totally out of whack. You know, for a certifiable genius, Sam, you handle finances like a complete moron."

That was one of the reasons why Sam got along with Al so well. Al wasn't in awe of his IQ, the 7 doctorates that he had, or the fact that he was often labeled "genius". When he screwed up Al wasn't afraid to tell him.

A small smile graced Sam's face as he replied, "Yeah, well, accounting isn't among the doctorates I hold, Al. Let's face it, we all have weaknesses and I guess you just found mine."

"Just found it? Remember, I've have the pleasure of watching you try to balance your checkbook before. How you haven't gone bouncing across the country is beyond me. Hey, don't touch any of that," Al yelled out as he turned around and caught Sam reaching for one of the piles of papers on the coffee table. "Do you know how long it took me to get this stuff all sorted out? Where the hell did you learn your filing system?"

Sam just shrugged in answer to Al's question as he dropped the papers back where they'd been and sat back on the couch while trying to muffle another cough.

"How are you feeling, Sam? You look a bit more human than you did when you woke up but you still look like road kill."

"Thanks, Al. I'm so glad I keep you around to stroke my ego. I don't know what I'd do without you." Sam's voice fairly dripped with sarcasm.

"Yeah, well," Al replied, "you've got enough people around here to do that for you so don't expect me to start, too."

"I never would, Al. I never would."

"You still didn't answer me," Al pointed out. "You feeling any better?"

A shrug and a cough were Sam's only answers as he sank deeper into the couch cushions, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. His eyes were only closed for a few seconds before they popped back open and he jerked away from the hand on his forehead. "Lay off, Al, I don't need you to mother me."

Al didn't even bother to respond to the surly tone in Sam's voice, just stated matter of factly, "You're hot."

"No," Sam disagreed, "actually, I'm cold. What's the heat set on in here anyway?"

Al didn't bother to answer Sam's question, just reached over to the thermostat and put it up higher. "When's the last time you ate anything?"

Sam had to stop and think about the answer to Al's question. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. He'd been too busy lately to really give much thought to it plus he really hadn't had much of an appetite to speak of.

"Forget it," Al answered his own question. "If you have to think about it it's been too long. I'm going to go down to the cafeteria to get you something to eat – some soup or something. Don't move from that couch while I'm gone and don't touch any of those papers."

"Yes, Sir," Sam replied before Al turned to walk out the door.

Once the door closed behind Al, Sam let out the cough he'd been trying to hold back. Once the fit had subsided he stuck his hand down between the couch cushions and fished out the remote for the TV. He's spent so much time looking for the lost remote only to find it between the couch cushions that he'd begun to automatically just look for it there. Al didn't have to worry about him getting up anytime soon. Whatever energy he'd had to shower and get dressed was used up now and it was a struggle just to sit on the couch and keep his eyes open.

He flicked on the TV and began to channel surf. His options were limited to either the network evening news or a choice of several sitcom reruns. He settled on the evening news before sticking the remote back between the cushions. Somewhere between Peter Jennings talking about the latest political scandal and the latest goings on in the pop world his head fell back onto the cushions as he fell into a light doze.


	8. Chapter 8

Al hurried down to the cafeteria to get Sam something to eat. He figured he'd also grab something for himself as he realized he hadn't sat down to eat anything since he'd had breakfast that morning. As luck would have it, there was chicken soup available in the cafeteria. What could be better for you when you were sick than chicken soup? Al grabbed a couple of bowls of the soup and a sandwich for himself. He didn't think Sam would be able to tolerate much more than the soup.

He had to juggle the food to operate the keycard to open the door to Sam's quarters. He could hear the TV playing inside but it was the sounds of the soft moans that worried him. He quickly got the door opened and stepped inside. Sam had fallen asleep on the couch and it looked like he was once again caught in the throes of a nightmare. Al wanted to wake him up from it but he also didn't want to embarrass Sam by hovering over him. Instead he turned around and kicked the door shut with a thump and loudly called out Sam's name.

Sam startled awake with a low shout and Al thought that maybe it would have been better if he had shaken him awake. Al bustled over to the small table and chairs that were in the corner of the room and started to set the food out on it. He wanted to give Sam a chance to not only fully wake up, but to also distance himself from the dream – whatever it was. Al really did want to ask Sam what the dream was but knew from experience that if pushed, Sam would just get more stubborn than he normally could be and would just clam up. He'd have to wait for the right time to press him. Instead he filled the silence with idle conversation.

"Hey, Sam, you lucked out. They had a big pot of chicken soup in the cafeteria. You know how they say it's good for what ails ya." He grabbed bowls and silverware from the cabinet in the small kitchenette area and when he had everything set out he went back over to the couch to help Sam to the table.

Sam was looking much more composed than he had been when Al had first walked in, although there was a haunted look in his eyes. Al grabbed his upper arm and gently pulled him up from the couch and walked him over to the table. He sat Sam down at the table, took a seat opposite him, and began to eat his dinner.

Silence ruled while Al ate his dinner and Sam played with the bowl of soup in front of him. "You know," Al finally said, "that's going to do you more good if you eat it than if you play with it."

"I'm not hungry," Sam managed to get out before being gripped by another coughing fit. Once he finally got it under control he was red in the face and breathing hard. Al had had to circle around the table and support Sam in his chair during the fit or he most likely would have fallen out of it. He touched his hand to Sam's reddened cheek and this time, instead of pulling away from him right away, Sam seemed to lean in to the coolness of his palm first.

Al's worry notched up a little higher when he felt the increasing warmth coming off of Sam. No matter what the kid was insisting, there was no way this was just a simple cold. He sounded like he was going to cough up a lung and the fever he was running had gone up. Al again tried to talk Sam into letting him drive him to a doctor, but again Sam waved off his concern and insisted that he didn't need to see a doctor.

"Gimme a break, Sam. This is no simple cold. What are you trying for, pneumonia?"

Sam had finally gotten his breathing back under control, but when he spoke his voice was low and hoarse from the coughing. "I don't have pneumonia, Al."

"And you don't have a cold either."

"No, you're probably right there," Sam conceded.

"I am?" Al was surprised that Sam had finally agreed with him. Well, that was one battle he'd won. Maybe there was hope he'd win the war next.

"Yeah, I guess you are. I'd say it's bronchitis."

"So we should get you to a doctor. You probably need an antibiotic or something," Al quickly replied still hoping to win that war.

"No. I don't need a doctor. Most cases of bronchitis are caused by a virus. There's no antibiotic on the market that's gonna cure a virus."

Al watched his probable victory in the war fizzle in the face of Sam's knowledge. It didn't mean he had to stop trying, though. "You said most cases. That means some are caused by something else that you could get something for. I still vote for the doctor."

"And I vote against it and since it's me we're talking about I get to make the choice. Besides, if I did let you take me to a doctor he'd more than likely tell me to go home, drink liquids, take some Tylenol, and rest. I can do all of that without spending all that time in a car and then sitting in a waiting room," Sam counter-argued.

Seeing Al's skeptical look Sam hastened to add, "I'm a doctor, remember, Al. I know what the symptoms are and that's exactly what I'd tell anyone else. Honest."

"Ok, Sam, you win. I'm not going to keep arguing with you." Al started to clean up the table, depositing the dirty dishes in the sink. "You're going to follow your own advice, though," he added.

"Huh?"

Al was in the small refrigerator now, moving the contents around until he'd found a bottle of apple juice. He poured out a glass of it and deposited it on the table in front of Sam along with two more Tylenol. "You're gonna drink this juice and take some more Tylenol and go to bed and sleep."

Sam's answer to Al's pronouncement was just short of panic. "No. I'll drink the juice and take the Tylenol but I'm not going to bed. I'm…I'm not sleepy. See, I'm still wide awake. That nap I took earlier was enough for a while."

"Whoa, whoa, Sam. Calm down before you set off that cough again. What's got you so worked up you don't want to sleep?" Sam had given Al the opening he wanted to ask him about the dream. He knew that Sam was tired. Just the fact that he'd fallen asleep so fast on the couch earlier was proof enough.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I just don't want to sleep, ok?"

Al took a good look at Sam's face. His expression both begged Al to let it drop while at the same time wanting him to push.

Al picked up the Tylenol and handed them to Sam along with the glass of juice. "Here, swallow these and drink this."

Sam dutifully did as he was told.

"Now we're going to go sit on that couch where we can be comfortable and you're going to tell me what you've been dreaming about and why you don't want to face it again." Al's tone of voice brooked no argument. Sam looked down at the floor and with a small nod he acquiesced to Al's wishes. He seemed to deflate just a little with his agreement.

Al helped him over to the couch and settled him in one corner of it, then disappeared into the bedroom. He came out a short time later with a blanket that he put over Sam before sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He waited a couple of beats before giving the simple order, "Talk."


	9. Chapter 9

Sam had been pleased with himself when Al had given in to his diagnosis and suggested treatment. Sure, if he let Al take him to a doctor he probably would have gotten a prescription for an inhaler but what Al didn't know wouldn't hurt Sam. Besides, it wasn't that hard to breathe. He should have known that victory was going to come with a price, though. He just didn't think that price was going to be the demand that he sleep.

Ordinarily he would have agreed to that without any argument. He honestly couldn't remember a time when he was so tired. He knew, though, if he did go to sleep IT would just be waiting for him. He didn't want to have to face another round of his mind imagining Tom's death. He'd had enough of that already today.

His refusal came fast - a little too fast for his lungs to take and he had to struggle to suppress the cough that was trying to come out. He'd also only kicked Al's curiosity into high gear since Al was now demanding to know why he didn't want to sleep.

He could have just told Al – told him and gotten it over with. He didn't think that would help, though, and denial came so much easier.

Once again, Al seemed to give in and drop the subject. Sam wasn't too sure if he was happy that Al had let it drop or not. When Al handed him the Tylenol and juice he dutifully swallowed both. When Al followed that up by telling him unconditionally that they were going to move over to the couch and Sam was going to come clean with what was bothering him, he knew he couldn't fight it anymore and nodded his head in agreement.

It was a good thing that Al helped him over to the couch. He wasn't sure he could have made it on his own without falling on his face. Once he was seated, Al disappeared into his bedroom. Sam was thankful to see him come out with a blanket since he couldn't seem to shake the chills that he had.

He was so tired. He knew it would be so simple to just put his head back and close his eyes. It probably wouldn't take any time at all to just fall asleep. Then he could escape the questions he knew Al would ask. If he knew that sleep would have been restful he probably would have done it.

Before he could really make a decision one way or the other, Al gave him a simple, one-word command that he found he couldn't disobey, "Talk."

Sam opened his mouth to explain to Al about the dream but no words would come out. After spending 20 years hiding the dream from everyone else he didn't know how to actually tell someone about it.

"You know," Al said, "it's supposed to help if you talk about what the dream was. You know, talk about it in the light of day and then it's not so bad as you think it is."

The only problem with that logic, Sam thought, was that in this case the reality was his dream and there was no way it would look better. He tried again and the only words that came out were, "My brother."

"Tom," Al supplied.

Sam nodded his head. "Yeah, Tom. I keep dreaming about him…about him dying. It's the same dream I've had since just after he died." He looked across to Al. "It's always the same kind of dream but it's always so different."

"It's the same but it's different?" was Al's confused question.

"Yeah, it's the same but it's different. They never told us how Tom died or what he was doing or anything. I guess whatever the mission he was on it was classified. That always bugged me and I guess my mind's just filling in all the possible ways. The dream always follows the same pattern, though, no matter what method of dying my mind decides to supply.. There's this sort of fog but I can see him. I know what's going to happen but I can't do anything to stop it. I can't warn him, I can't reach out to him. Nothing. It's like I'm stuck in cement and I've got no voice. It always ends the same way – Tom's dead." Once he'd started to explain the dream to Al his mouth had taken off with a life of its own. Sam had to resist the urge to get up and start pacing the length of the room. It was a habit for him that when he got angry, nervous, frustrated – that he'd often pace while talking. He wasn't sure he'd be able to do that right now, though, without falling face first on the floor.

"You never had any indication of how he'd been killed?" Al asked.

"No. Nothing at all. I think my Dad might have had some idea, though."

"Why would you think that?"

Sam rested his head on the back of the couch, closing his eyes for a moment before he answered Al's question. He was remembering – remembering a time when he was 16 and it felt like his whole world had come crashing down around him. He finally opened his eyes and picked his head up but he didn't look at Al, he just stared out straight ahead seeing the past unfold in front of him.

"When Tom's…when Tom's body was returned it was…Mom and Dad were…it was advised that it would be best if the funeral was closed casket. When we got to the funeral Dad took the director aside and said that he wanted to see Tom. The funeral director sort of argued with Dad – he didn't think that was such a good idea. Dad pressed him though and he finally gave in. He and Dad went into the room where the casket was. I stayed in the other room and waited with Mom and Katie. A part of me was glad I didn't have to see Tom like that. I mean, dead. Anyway, Dad came out of the room a few minutes later. He looked…I don't know. He looked shocked and like he was going to be sick or something. He didn't say anything, just reached out and hugged Mom.

"When he let her go, Mom said she wanted to see Tom, too, and she tried to go around Dad into the room. He wouldn't let her though. He just grabbed her and said that she shouldn't remember Tom that way, that she should remember him alive. I don't know what prompted me but while Dad was trying to hold Mom back I went around them and tried to see for myself. I don't know why because I really didn't want to. I just felt…I don't know…compelled." He glanced quickly over at Al who nodded his head to prompt Sam to go on with his story.

"Dad must have seen me from the corner of his eye or something 'cause he grabbed me before I could get the door opened. I don't really remember what happened after that except that I started to argue with Dad that I had to see Tom. I don't know why I was arguing with him. It was almost like I stepped out of myself and was watching someone else control my body. I just kept arguing more and more and my voice kept getting louder and louder. Then I just kept yelling over and over again that I had to see Tom. I had to see Tom. I just kept on yelling until….." It was as if he'd lost the energy or ability to go on with his story.

Al leaned over and put a hand on his shoulder, "Until what, Sam. What happened after that?"

Sam took a deep breath and made a half-hearted attempt to suppress the cough it triggered. Al got up from the couch and got a glass of water from the sink, which Sam was grateful for. Once Sam had drained the glass of water and seemed to have his breathing under control again, Al moved some of the papers piled on the coffee table and sat down on it facing Sam and prompted him to go on with his story.

After a couple of seconds of silence, Sam did, though he didn't look up at Al. "I didn't stop yelling until Dad slapped me across the face." He looked at Al then and Al looked a bit shocked to have heard that Sam's father had slapped him. Sam felt the need to defend his father and his actions. "That was the first and only time in my entire life that he ever raised a hand to me. I don't know who was more shocked – him or me – but it stopped me from yelling. The next thing I really remember was sitting on the floor crying and Dad was hugging me. He was crying, too. God, Al, I'd never seen my father cry before that. Never. Even when we found out that Tom had been killed he hadn't cried."

Sam raised his head and, with tears in his eyes, met Al's gaze. His voice dropped nearly to a whisper as he said, "It scared me."

Al got up and sat next to Sam on the couch again, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Aw, Sammy, I never knew," was all Al said.

The sympathy that Sam heard in Al's voice was too much for him. He turned and buried his face in Al's shoulder and cried in earnest.


	10. Chapter 10

Al sat in silence while Sam told his story, only prompting him when he seemed to falter. He was surprised when Sam told him how his father had slapped him. After all that Sam had told him about his parents, John Beckett never seemed to Al to be the type of person to raise a hand to his children. Sam must have sensed his surprise since he was quick to defend his father.

Al could only imagine the shock it must have been for the 16-year-old Sam to see his father cry for the first time in his life. He felt an overwhelming sympathy for Sam when he looked up with tears in his eyes and whispered that it had scared him.

Despite the years that he and Sam had known each other and had been friends, there was still so much about each other that they didn't know. He'd never realized the trauma that had surrounded the death of Sam's brother, and it was a trauma that Sam was still carrying with him.

He moved from the coffee table to the couch beside Sam, putting an arm around his shoulders in an attempt to offer what comfort he could while also confessing to Sam that he'd never known what he'd gone through. The last thing that Al expected was for Sam to turn to him and start crying harder.

Al tightened his hold on Sam and reached around with his free hand to pat him awkwardly on the back. He knew there was nothing he could say or do that would take away what had happened. He also knew that if Sam weren't sick he most likely wouldn't have lost control of his emotions. They sat like that for a few minutes until Sam regained control and pushed himself away from Al.

"Sorry," came the quiet, embarrassed voice.

"S'ok," Al responded. "Sometimes you need to get it all out. Hang on a second and I'll be right back," he said, rising from the couch.

Al disappeared into the bathroom and when he came back out he had a handful of toilet paper. "Sorry," he said handing it to Sam, "you don't seem to have any tissues in there. I figured this would be better than paper towels."

Sam reached to take the toilet paper, using it to scrub the tears off of his face and to blow his nose. His only reply was a quiet, "Thanks."

Al noticed the tight lines around Sam's eyes and how he was squinting, and crossed the room to turn off the overhead light and to turn on the desk lamp so that the room was bathed in a softer, warmer light. Between all of the coughing Sam had been doing and the fever he was running and now the crying Al guessed he probably had a pretty good headache right about now. He would have encouraged Sam to go to bed but it looked like there was more he needed to talk about.

Al took a seat on the coffee table across from Sam again and prompted him to finish his story. "So, when did the dream start?"

"That night. I nearly scared Mom and Dad to death when I woke up yelling my head off – again. It's probably a good thing we didn't have any neighbors really close by," Sam said looking up at Al. "The way I was screaming they probably would have thought someone was trying to kill me. I couldn't tell them what I was dreaming about, though. I don't know if I just couldn't talk about it or if I didn't want to hurt them or what but I just couldn't. Mom sat with me until I fell back to sleep but it seemed like I no sooner was asleep again and the dream came back – not as bad as the first time, though. That kept happening all night. Mom ended up spending the night sitting with me and holding me for the rest of night. I don't think I ever really did fall asleep until after the sun came up and then when I did I slept for the next two days.

"It wasn't like Mom and Dad didn't have enough to worry about," he said with a wry smile, "without me adding to it. They had Dr. Berger come out to check on me. He said I was just in shock or something and that they should just keep an eye on me and let me ride it out. When I finally woke up I tried to pretend nothing had happened. I think Mom and Dad were afraid of setting me off again so we just never talked about what had happened."

"So you've never told anyone about the dream, you've just kept it to yourself all these years?" Al questioned.

Sam nodded in agreement with Al. "Yeah. Like I said, I don't think Mom and Dad wanted to do anything to set me off and I didn't want to upset them or worry them anymore than they already were. I don't think Katie ever really knew what was going on. Before I really realized it I'd graduated and was at M.I.T. and there was no one to talk about it with."

"But the dreams kept coming?"

"Yeah, they kept coming. Not quite as bad as that first time but there were still nights I'd wake up yelling." A small chuckled escaped from Sam as he added, "I had a tough time keeping the same roommate for very long. I think I was the only freshman to end up with a private room."

Al couldn't help but to join in on the laugh. "If it were anyone but you, Sam, that would have been the perfect situation to smuggle in girls."

"I'm surprised you never thought of trying something like that, Al," Sam countered. "Anyway, eventually I stopped having the dream so frequently and it just sort of faded away. It's pretty rare that I'll have it now. Before today I think it was over a year ago since I last had it."

"I wish you'd told me all this before, Sam. I can't change what you went through but I could have listened – tried to help. God knows you've more than helped me."

"I know you would have listened, Al. It just got easier and easier over the years to just ignore it." He looked like he would have gone on but was interrupted by a yawn. It looked to Al like it was getting harder and harder for Sam to keep his eyes open. He knew that Sam probably still needed to talk but it was probably just as important for him to get some rest right now.

"You think you could get some sleep now, Sam?"

"Yeah, I probably could. I'm so tired I don't think I'd have the energy to dream."

Sam started to push himself up from the couch and swayed a bit unsteadily once he'd gotten up. Al also got up with him, putting out a steadying hand until Sam got his balance.

As Sam started to walk toward the bathroom Al said behind him, "I think I'll crash on your couch tonight. That way if you need anything I'll be close by."

Sam stopped on his way to the bathroom and turned to face Al. "You don't have to do that. I'll be all right."

"I know I don't have to do it, Sam, I want to."

"Thanks," Sam said and then continued into the bathroom. Once the door had shut, Al set about collecting the papers and folders that were lying around the room and started to assemble them in an orderly pile.

He heard the bathroom door open and Sam walk into his bedroom and get into bed. When the only sounds coming from the bedroom were a few soft coughs Al went in to make sure there was nothing Sam would need for the night.

Sam was curled up in the bed on his left side facing the door. He was huddled under the blanket and still seemed to be shivering so Al stepped back into the living room and grabbed the blanket that Sam had been using earlier off the couch. He spread the blanket over Sam, tucking it in at his shoulders.

"If you need anything tonight I'll be right out there. You just let me know, ok."

Sam raised head from the pillow and blinked sleepily at Al. "Thanks, Al," he replied, and laid his head back down on the pillow.

"Anytime, Kid," Al replied before walking out of the room and partially closing the door.

He finished stacking the papers and files into a neat pile on the desk. He saved the open spreadsheet on the computer before powering it down. There was time enough to finish getting the budget balanced tomorrow.

He walked over to the fridge and grabbed a can of soda before going back over to the couch and sitting down. Al began looking for the remote for the TV, starting with the coffee table. Not seeing it there he got up again to look on the desk and, not finding it there, checked to see if it was on any of the counters in the kitchen. When he still didn't find the remote he went back over to the couch and bent down and put his hand between the cushions. Sure enough, there was the remote. He should have known to just look between the cushions for the thing. As long as he'd known Sam he'd always managed to lose his remote in the couch cushions.

Al turned on the TV and lowered the volume in deference to the sleeping man in the other room. He began to mindlessly flick through the channels, not really seeing what was going by on the TV, instead consumed by his own memories of the past.

He was thinking of the first time he'd met Sam. That had been nearly 10 years ago on the Starbright project. There'd been an opening for a physicist at the time and Sam's resume had come across Al's desk. He'd been impressed with Sam's resume but was also a bit leary of what type of person Sam would be. At the time Al hadn't been too sure that someone with Sam's credentials would be able to fit in and work with the group. He'd been expecting to meet with a man whose ego was too big to fit through the door but what he got was completely different.

Instead of the egomaniac he'd been expecting it was a shy young man who walked through his door. He was soft-spoken and almost awkward talking to Al, but when he started to talk about his work it was with a passion unmatched by anyone Al had ever known. There was a quality about the kid that just impressed Al and he offered him the open position right then and there. It turned out to be the best thing he could have done for either of them.

Just a couple of weeks later the kid had come upon him in a drunken rage attacking a vending machine that had eaten his last dime. Not only had he talked Al down from his attack on the vending machine, almost getting his own head bashed in in the process, but he'd also defended Al when the project director had wanted to dismiss him. He'd saved Al's job – and Al himself, and the two of them had forged a life-long friendship from that day on. Well, once Al had sobered up enough to understand what Sam had done for him.

They'd both come a long way since then. Sam had been forced to overcome a lot of his shyness, though it did frequently creep up on him. The one thing about him that hadn't changed, though, was his empathetic nature and his need to help everyone that came his way. Al had told him a million times that it was going to get him in trouble one day but he was glad that Sam hadn't changed.

Al had learned over the years that he didn't need the crutch alcohol had become for him. Sam had had a large part in helping him with that.

Two years ago when Sam had first approached Al about helping him get Project Quantum Leap off the ground he'd thought the kid was nuts. Whoever heard of building some kind of super computer to enable time travel. That was the stuff of science fiction – not reality. After several long nights where Sam explained his theory to Al over and over, Al started to see how it could work and started to believe in it himself. From there it wasn't too much of a stretch before he found himself in front of a congressional committee lobbying for the funding they'd need to get the project off the ground and to keep it running. Two years later and he was still having to tap dance in front of the committee to keep the funding going, but each day was bringing them a step closer to proving Sam's theory.

Al shook his head and pulled his thoughts back to the present. He realized that he'd gone around the complete channel list at least once – and probably more – while he'd been thinking of the past. He went through it once more before turning off the TV because there wasn't anything on. He was about to lean over and leave the remote on the coffee table before he thought the better of it and tucked it between the couch cushions.

Rising from the couch he went into the bedroom to check on Sam. He hadn't moved from the position he'd been in earlier and his deep breathing indicated that he was deeply asleep. Al reached out to lay his hand across Sam's forehead. It was a bit cooler than it had been but it was still quite warm. He made sure the blankets were tucked in snugly around Sam's form before turning and leaving the bedroom.

Walking back into the living room he realized that there were no pillows and the one extra blanket was the one he put over Sam. He grabbed the keycard to Sam's quarters off the desk and went the short distance to his own quarters and grabbed a blanket, pillow, and a change of clothes. He let himself back into Sam's quarters and paused at the bedroom door to make sure that Sam was still sleeping deeply before stripping down to a pair of boxer shorts and his t-shirt. He stretched out on the couch with the pillow and blanket and was, himself, asleep in a matter of minutes.


	11. Chapter 11

Even though it seemed to Sam as if he'd just lain down to sleep, the glowing "5:00" from the clock at the side of his bed told a different story. He'd slept the night through without any interruptions – or at least none that he aware of. He lay still a moment taking stock of how he was feeling. His chest felt tight and now that he was awake and aware he could feel the tickle of a cough which he succeeded in suppressing for the moment. His eyes felt gritty as if sand were in them, and even knowing he'd slept soundly the whole night he still felt tired. It would have been so easy to just roll over and close his eyes and go back to sleep, but there was too much work to be done. Instead he dragged himself out of bed and rummaged through the dresser drawers and the closet pulling out clothes to put on before going into the bathroom to shower and shave. He had the vain hope that once he was showered and dressed he'd feel more awake and human.

Once he was done showering and dressing he straightened up his bed and set the bathroom to rights. He realized he didn't feel anymore awake than he had when he'd first opened his eyes.

"Coffee," he said to himself. "I just need some coffee and I'll be fine."

Walking out of his bedroom he was surprised to find Al sleeping on his couch. He'd forgotten that last night Al had said he was going to do just that. Moving quietly and with care so as not to wake the older man, Sam went over to the kitchenette and pulled out what he needed to make a pot of coffee. He was just turning to put the filled coffeepot in the coffeemaker when he heard the voice behind him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Startled by the closeness of the voice Sam gasped and whirled around, dropping the coffeepot which shattered when it hit the floor.


	12. Chapter 12

The last thing that Al had meant to do was startle Sam so that he'd drop the coffeepot. He thought that the kid had heard him get up but now he knew he was mistaken. Looking down at the broken shards of the coffee pot, Al noticed that although Sam had gotten dressed he was still barefoot. With his back up against the counter and with the shards of glass on the floor around him there was no where Sam could safely walk without cutting himself.

Since the gasp he'd let out when Al had first startled him, Sam hadn't made a sound. Looking up to Sam's face Al started to grow worried. Sam looked as if he'd seen a ghost and Al figured it would be best to tread lightly.

"Sam, just stay there and don't move until I can get this cleaned up. Sam? Do you hear me?"

Al's worry grew when Sam neither answered him nor even looked up to acknowledge Al's presence. He just kept staring down at the broken glass all around him.

Al quickly went back to the couch and put on his pants and shoes, then went into the kitchen to clean the mess. Sam still hadn't moved though he was starting to look a little less than steady on his feet and was leaning heavily backwards on the counter.

Grabbing a dishtowel off the counter, Al bent down and used it to sweep the glass to one side. Once he was sure there was a clear path with no glass, he reached for Sam and pulled him forward, steering him around the pile of glass shards before walking him over to the couch and pushing him down to sit.

Al crouched down in front of Sam, who still seemed to show no awareness of what was going on around him, which only served to ratchet Al's worry even higher.

"Sam? Come on, let me know you're all right," Al said while reaching and gently shaking Sam. "Come on, Buddy, what's goin' on in that noggin of yours that's got you checked out?"

Sam finally showed some awareness of Al, pulling back from him sharply and gasping. "Oh God," he whispered, "that's what he said."

"Who, Sam? What did who say?" Al asked growing confused.

"My Dad. That's what my Dad said to me. My God, Al, all these years and I've remembered it wrong."

"Remembered what wrong, Sam? You gotta help me out, Kid, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"That day at the funeral home – when Dad was holding Mom back I didn't just _try_ to go into the room where Tom was," Sam now raised his face to look at Al, "I _did_ go in the room. That's what my Dad said to me when he grabbed me to pull me back, 'What the hell are you doing?' But I saw him, Al. I saw Tom and he didn't…he was… his… Oh God!" Sam made a strangled sound in his throat before bursting off the couch and running for the bathroom. Al soon heard sounds of retching coming from the bathroom.

He waited a few seconds before going into the bathroom to check on Sam. The retching had stopped but Sam was slumped on the floor in front of the toilet like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Al knelt on the floor next to Sam. He reached out a hand to flush the toilet and rested the other hand on Sam's trembling back. He didn't know what to say to Sam and thought it would probably be best to just follow Sam's lead. The one thing he did know was that he had to get him up off of the cold floor.

"You all done, Sam," he asked in a quiet voice. A nod was his only answer. Al reached over Sam to grab the cup that was on the sink and filled it with water. Holding it to Sam's lips he urged him to rinse his mouth out.

After he'd returned the cup to the sink he put an arm around Sam's shoulders, helped him up off the floor, and once again walked him to the couch in the living room and sat him down on it. He reached over for the discarded blanket he'd used during the night and wrapped it around Sam's shoulders since he was now shivering in earnest.

Al crossed over into the kitchen and filled another glass with water. He handed it to Sam with orders to drink it. Sam reached for the glass with a trembling hand and it was all he could do to bring the glass to his lips and drink without spilling it all over himself. Once he'd drained the glass he was quiet for a few seconds before he began to speak – his voice once more very low.

"Why would I remember something different all these years, Al? I don't understand. Why did I forget that I had seen Tom but I remembered everything else? I don't understand."

Al knew that Sam wanted answers that, most likely, Al just couldn't provide.

"You were young, Sam, and I'm sure you had quite a shock. Your mind must have blocked it out to protect you. It can happen. I know there's been things that happened to me in 'Nam I forgot about for years and then something would happen that would bring the memory back."

"But why now, Al? What's so different about now that I finally remembered?"

"Didn't you say last night, Sam, that that was the first time you've really told anyone about the dream you've been having or talked about what had happened at the funeral home?"

"Yeah."

"Well, maybe talking about it last night and then when I inadvertently said the same thing your Dad did it just brought it all back for you."

"Yeah, maybe," Sam agreed. "It's just when I heard you and the coffee pot broke it was like I was back there again. I could see Tom and hear my Dad. I could hear myself yelling at my Dad again – and my Dad crying. It all came back to me. I just didn't know I'd forgotten and it just… it was just so vivid when I remembered."

"Suppressed memories have a way of doing that," Al said matter of factly.

"You sound like you know all about it," Sam said.

"Yeah," agreed Al. "I've had more than my share of surpressed memories that decided to make a come back and it's not really a very pleasant experience."

"Vietnam?" Sam asked.

Al nodded. "I buried a lot of what happened when I was there. Sometimes when I least expect it, it just comes out, though."

"Yeah, well, I just hope my mind doesn't have any more surprises for me. This one was…" before he could continue he was cut off by a coughing fit that seemed like it would never end. When it finally did end Sam leaned limply back against the couch. The coughing, the memories and all the other events of the morning were fast taking a toll on him and sapping him of whatever strength he had.

"That reminds me," Al said once Sam seemed to have caught his breath. "What are you doing up and dressed?"

"Going to the office," was the weak reply.

"I don't think so, Sam," Al said while reaching out to rest his palm on Sam's forehead to gauge his temperature. Sam didn't try to pull away from Al's hand so Al figured either the feel of his palm on Sam's hot forehead was soothing to him or he just didn't have the energy to pull away. "What you're going do is to take some more Tylenol and lie down while I go take a shower and get dressed. Then I'm driving you into town to see a doctor. We've done it your way and you don't seem to be getting any better so now we're gonna try it my way and don't even bother trying to argue."

"Ok, Al, I give in. We'll do it your way now."

Now Al knew that the kid had to be sick if he was going to give in that quickly. He got more water and two more Tylenol from the kitchen. Once Sam had swallowed them, Al had him lie down on the couch, after digging the TV remote out from between the cushions, and tucked the blanket in around him.

Even though Sam looked like he was tired enough to drop right off to sleep, Al had a pretty good feeling that might be harder for him to do after the events of the morning. He turned on the TV and put on one of the local news programs with the volume turned down low before handing the remote to Sam. "Try to rest and I'll be right out."

Al gathered up the clothes he'd gotten the night before and headed into the bathroom to take a quick shower.


	13. Chapter 13

The ride into town was mostly silent. After he'd finished his shower, Al had called the doctor in town and had managed to get an appointment for Sam for that morning. Most of the ride into town had been a blur for Sam as he drifted in and out of sleep. He probably would have slept the whole way but it seemed every time he did drift to sleep he'd be pulled from it by yet another coughing fit.

Thankfully once they'd gotten to the doctor's office the doctor had seen Sam fairly quickly. He confirmed Sam's self-diagnosis of bronchitis and agreed there was no need for an antibiotic – that rest and plenty of fluids should be enough. He did, however, send Sam off with a prescription for a cough suppressant as well as an inhaler.

Once they'd left the doctor's office, Al drove to the nearest pharmacy to get the prescriptions filled. He resisted the urge to tell Sam "I told you so." They lucked out again as it only took the pharmacy a short amount of time to fill both prescriptions. In just the short drive from the doctor's office to the pharmacy Sam had fallen asleep with his head against the window. While he was in the pharmacy, Al left the car running to keep Sam warm while he slept..

When he came out about 20 minutes later the closing of his car door woke up Sam. Sam blinked the sleep out of his eyes and noticed the bag that Al was carrying. "I thought you were only going to get the two prescriptions. That looks like a whole lot more."

"I picked up a few other things we needed," Al replied while turning around in his seat to put the bag in the back.

"A few things? It looks like you bought out half the place. What did you get?"

"Well, I thought you might actually like tissues instead of the toilet paper you've been using. I also got another bottle of Tylenol – the one you had is almost empty. There's also a thermometer in there."

"A thermometer? What do you need that for?" Sam asked.

Al backed the car out of the parking space and began driving up the road before he answered. "Dr. Masters said we had to keep an eye on how high your fever was and if it went over 103 he wanted you in the hospital. I can't exactly do that with my hand, can I?"

Sam turned to face Al, surprised. "You were eavesdropping on us?"

"No," Al defended. "While you were getting dressed Dr. Masters came out to talk to me. Seems he didn't really trust you to follow his orders and since you neglected to tell me that little tidbit of information yourself I guess he was right." Al couldn't resist the smirk he threw Sam's way, "Seems he knows you a bit too well."

"You warm enough?" Al asked, changing the subject while reaching to turn up the heat in the car. Even though they were in the middle of the desert in New Mexico it still did tend to get a bit chilly in the winter – especially when temperatures were a bit lower than average. Sam was bundled up in a heavy coat, but he still looked chilled to Al.

"I'll be fine, Al."

A non-committal grunt was the only answer Al had for that. They both lapsed into silence again and within minutes Sam had fallen asleep with his head pressed up against the window. After driving for about 15 minutes with only the sounds of Sam's breathing and coughing to keep him company, Al leaned over and turned the radio on softly.

He'd been driving for about 45 minutes when he noticed Sam starting to grow restless in the seat next to him. Al reached out a hand to Sam's shoulder and tried to either wake him up or soothe him back to sleep – he wasn't sure which. Sam kept growing more restless and started to mumble incoherently. Al thought it best to wake Sam up and get him calmed down but couldn't do that while driving. So he pulled over onto the shoulder of the deserted road.

He reached over with both hands and gently shook Sam while calling out his name. Sam didn't wake up but grew more restless with his head tossing from side to side. Al shook him a little harder and called his name a little louder. Finally, with a hoarse shout, Sam did wake up. He looked around wild-eyed, not really seeing anything before convulsing into a fit of coughing. Al groped into the back seat for the bag from the pharmacy and pulled out the inhaler that had been prescribed. He pushed it into Sam's hand and encouraged him to use it.

He waited until the contents of the inhaler seemed to be doing its job before asking if Sam was ok.

"I'm ok," Sam mumbled. "I'll be ok."

"Was it the dream again?" Al asked.

"Yeah, it was. I was hoping I was finished with it – at least for a while." Sam wiped a hand across his face and looked around, finally noticing they were stopped on the side of the road. "Where are we?"

"About 15-20 minutes from the project. You've been sleeping for a while. You sure you're ok?"

"Yeah, Al. I'm ok now. Thanks for waking me up."

Al started up the car and pulled back onto the road. "Anytime, Sam."


	14. Chapter 14

Over the next several days Al kept a close watch on Sam, forcing him to follow the doctor's orders. The combination of his illness and the medication prescribed by the doctor had Sam feeling drowsy most of the time and he slept quite a bit. Frequently his sleep was disturbed by the dreams that had been plaguing him. Slowly, though, as the days wore on his sleep was less and less disturbed by the frightening images.

He knew he owed a lot of that to the fact that he was talking to Al about it. He wasn't keeping it bottled up inside anymore and Al had been more than willing to listen to him. Sam suspected that was because Al knew what it was like to need someone to just listen to you talk about the nightmares. There had been a few occasions in the past where Sam had acted as that sounding board for Al.

While Sam had been sleeping either in his bed or on the couch, Al had been using the computer in his quarters to keep up with the work of the project, only leaving Sam alone when something came up that demanded his attention. Sam knew he had fielded more than a couple of calls from the committee, anxious to reschedule the cancelled meeting. Al had finally referred them to Dr. Masters, who told them in no uncertain terms that Sam wouldn't be up to meeting with them for at least a week or more.

That had been just about a week ago, so Sam knew that any day now they'd be calling looking to reschedule that meeting yet again. There'd be no choice but to finally give them a reschedule date.

Sam was feeling a lot better. It had been a couple of days since he'd had to use the inhaler he'd been prescribed, and the cough was now just an occasional nuisance. Most importantly, the last two nights he'd slept the complete night through without any hint of the dreams that had been haunting him.

He and Al decided to go down to the cafeteria that night for dinner. Al hadn't let Sam leave his quarters since they'd come back from Dr. Master's office and Sam was ready to see some different people. Even though Al had been out of Sam's quarters to attend several meetings and see to the day to day running of the project, he was also anxious to see some different people.

Sam almost began to regret the decision when just about everyone who came in to the cafeteria stopped by his and Al's table to see how he was feeling. He assured everyone that he was doing just fine and that he'd be back in his office working as usual the next day.

When it seemed the parade of well-wishers had finally dwindled, Sam took the opportunity to tell Al something he'd wanted to say all day but hadn't quite known how to do it.

"I wanted to thank you, Al, for everything you've done this last week," he began.

Al tried to wave off his thanks. "It was nothing, Kid."

"No, Al, it was something. You've hardly left my quarters the last week. You've spent all of your time taking care of me – forcing me to take care of myself and I know I wasn't exactly easy to get along with. Even my Mom would dread when I'd get sick as kid 'cause I'd get so grouchy." Sam put down the fork he'd been holding and looked across to Al. What he had to say next was important and he wanted to make sure he had the older man's complete attention.

"Thanks for listening to me this last week. I don't think I could have gotten through this week if you hadn't been there to listen. I didn't realize how much I needed to talk to someone about what had happened and I really appreciate you being there for me. I don't know how I can ever repay you for that."

"It was nothing you wouldn't have done, Sam. Hell, it was nothing you haven't done in the past already. But, if you really want to pay me back," a huge grin split Al's face and it worried Sam, just a tad.

"Why do I get the feeling I should be worried about whatever it is you want."

"I don't know why you'd be thinking that, Sam. I was just hoping you could tell me a little something about Tina?"

"Who?"

"You know, the new computer programmer. Tina Martinez-O'Farrell. So what can you tell me about her?"

"Well, she's got a degree in, "Sam started to reply playfully.

"That's not what I meant Sam, and you know it. I'm hoping I can get to know her."

"I know exactly what you meant, Al. Wouldn't it be more fun to get that information yourself, then?"

"You know, Kid, you just might be right. As a matter of fact, I see the lovely Tina has just come down for dinner. Since it seems you're doing ok I think I just may join her."

"Go on, Al. I'm just going to finish up here and head back to my quarters and turn in early. I want to get a good night's sleep before getting back to work tomorrow."

"You're going to be ok, aren't you, Sam?" Al asked before leaving to join Tina.

"I'll be fine, Al," Sam assured him. "I'll be fine now. And thank you again."

Al nodded and patted him on the shoulder before going off to his conquest of Tina.

Sam watched from his seat for a while, amused as yet again Al pursued and seemed to catch another woman. The he got up and disposed of the remains of his dinner, and headed toward the door. It would be good to get back to normal tomorrow and he had Al to thank for that.

As he walked out the door his mind began to wander. Although he would always be grateful to Al for talking with him about Tom and the dreams he'd been having. and it had definitely been a great help, Al would never be able to tell Sam exactly what it was that had happened to Tom. The key to that lay in his theory on time travel. If he could get it to work – and he was sure he could. Then he'd be able to see for himself what had happened and put those demons to rest. And if he could see, maybe, just maybe there was a way he could make it different. No, he couldn't do that, though. It could be too dangerous to go mucking about in time and changing the past. Who knows what effect it would have on the present and the future. No, first thing he'd have to do when he got back to his quarters was to draw up a list of rules to prevent that from happening. Still….it was a tempting thought.


End file.
